


It's You, It's Always Been You

by itsmorethanfine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Happy Ending, M/M, On Dean's Part, Self Confidence Issues, Temporarily Unrequited Love, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmorethanfine/pseuds/itsmorethanfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who looks at their little brother like that? Other than, Dean 'fifty shades of fucked up' Winchester</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's You, It's Always Been You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the beautiful Katrina <3 Happy Birthday! This is my first ever Wincest fic and I really, really hope you like it <3 You're amazing and I hope you have a beautiful day!

Dean can’t stop thinking about his little brother.

Not in the subtle _oh I hope Sam’s first day of school is going okay_ sort of way. The thing was, Sam’s first day of school was about fourteen years ago, and his thoughts about Sam are only getting stronger and stronger.

Sometimes he’ll catch himself staring at Sam as he’s cleaning out his gun, or as he carries in their duffel bags into the gross motels that they stay in, or even as he wakes up in the morning and stretches, limbs sprawled everywhere and just the tiniest bit of stomach visible as his shirt rides up.

Dean can’t help it. He knows, just as any logical twenty six year old knows, that having a crush on his little brother is nothing but the most disgusting thing on the planet, so he doesn’t say anything.

That is until one day, when he’s frantically dialing Sam’s phone in the middle of the night because he hasn’t come home yet. And the fear that seizes in his chest is a lot more than just love, it’s concern, terror and every bad feeling imaginable all rolled up into a tight ball of tension at the pit of his stomach. And he feels like he has to throw up.

He dials Sam’s number one more time, cursing at himself because how could he be so stupid, how could he be so dumb and let his little brother leave. How could he expect his little brother to dump everything that he’d so carefully built up for himself just to leave it all behind, all for him? And suddenly, there’s a thumping at the door and Dean’s jumping over their things on the floor, hurtling towards the door because it has to be Sam. It has to be.

He swings the door open and the strong stench of alcohol on his brother’s lips makes him want to gag, but he props his brother up by the shoulders and gently leads him to the bed, mind spinning because it’s his fault. He’d fallen asleep, tried to get some rest, when there was none of that for him. Not when he had his work cut out for him.

“Sammy, what the hell did you do?”

Sam throws him a toothy grin, eyelids fluttering at the sight of his older brother in front of him. “I’m peachy, Dean. Are you p-proud of me? I used y-your word.”

Dean wants to roll his eyes, but he’s afraid he’s going to spill the tears that are so quickly forming at the corners. But, he’s searching his brother’s face, trying to find some sign. Anything that would give Dean a reason _why_ his brother was so drunk off his ass.

He secretly hopes it’s because of him – no because that’s fucked up. On so many goddamn levels.

“Sam, why are you so drunk?”

“Your freckles, Dean. They’re like stars. So many. I want to count them.”

Dean’s glad that Sam won’t remember the way his cheeks flush in the dim light, or the way his heart flutters at the lame, not to mention _drunken,_ compliment that his brother had given him.

“Sam, you’re drunk.”

“I love you, Bean.”

It’s not the first three words that make Dean’s entire world stop. It’s not the way Sam says it, with his childish drunken voice. It’s the nickname that gets Dean. The stupid nickname Sam had coined when he’d been learning rhyming words in first grade and realized that the bean on his spoon rhymed with Dean.

But, here they were, in a stinky motel room, one huge Stanford fight, two years and ten states away and one girlfriend’s death later, and the nickname was back.

“Love ya too, Sammy,” Dean says, nonchalantly. Because it’s not the same way. Sam can’t feel the same way Dean does, he can’t. Because Sam’s always wanted normal, safe. He’s wanted familiarity. And Dean’s not about to take it away from him.

But, as he’s tucking Sam between the covers, just like he used to when they were little kids, Sam wraps his fingers around his wrist and pulls him close.

“Bean, you’re awesome.”

“Sam, go to sleep,” Dean tries to say, but he can’t get the words out because Sam’s stolen them right from his mouth, lips pressed hard against his. It’s cliché, but there’s sparks and fireworks and there’s a bell tinkling somewhere and there’s probably a bird singing too, every single cliché love symbol that he’s ever heard of. It’s all there.

He’s sure he’s seeing lights because he’s dreamed of this for years, but the impending sense of dread was pooling quickly, seeping throughout his body because he’s _violating_ his brother.

“Sam,” Dean pants, as he pulls away, lips tingling, heart racing and mind buzzing. “Sam.”

It’s all he can say, and then his brother gives him a shit eating grin, eyes closed. “’lways wanted to do that.”

But, before Dean can say anything, Sam turns on his side, away from Dean and soft snores escape his mouth.

Dean’s mind is whirling and his lips are still tingling. He touches his lips and he swears there’s a jolt of electricity sitting there somewhere.

He takes about five sleeping pills and conks about before he can think about it anymore.

*

The light penetrates his eyelids and Dean struggles to keep his eyes closed, trying to block it out. And suddenly, last night’s events come cascading through his mind like a slideshow and just like that, his lips are tingling again and his eyes don’t hurt from the light anymore.

His heart aches though. Because Sam was too plastered to remember anything from last night but then again, Dean’s not about to have an awkward conversation about his feelings.

Because then that would mean _admitting_ his own feelings and since when has talking about feelings ever been a good thing?

He throws off his covers, eyes still shut and swings his legs over the side of the bed. And when he finally opens his eyes, he sees the boy who’s stolen his heart sitting hunched over at a table, hair floppily drooping over his forehead. Dean ignores the impulse to run his fingers through it.

“Sleep well, Sammy?” he asks. If he’s subtle enough, maybe Sam won’t notice.

“Dean,” Sam starts, the familiar tone of concern and frustration all rolled into just one word and Dean’s heart tugs again.

“What?” he asks, shoving away the despair that’s rising in the form of bile from his stomach. “Are you apologizing for making me lift your drunk ass in bed? Because that better be it.”

He’s past Sam now, he can’t see him, there’s a wall in the way. But Sam can and so Dean desperately hopes that the tension in his shoulders won’t give him away. He should just shut himself in the bathroom, but after years of knowing Sam, he knows he’s going to talk to him no matter what. And it’s better now than in the middle of a hunt.

“No, Dean. You know what I’m talking about.”

Dean’s heart pulls again, this time a little more painfully. Because Sam’s going to tell him that he’s doesn’t like him and that he’s sorry for kissing him and that he should have kept his distance and that he shouldn’t have done anything that he did last night. And that he never meant it.

And that he’s sorry.

_Sorry_.

It’s the one word that Dean thinks should be banned in their conversations. Because no matter what Sam did or would do, he would always forgive him. He always would. And this kiss, it would be just another blemish in the almost perfect life of Sam Winchester, but it would be a whole world of pain in his life. But, this isn’t about him.

Sam just lost his girlfriend for Christ’s sake. Dean needs to learn to be more sensitive.

“What are you talking about?”

“I kissed you, Dean,” Sam says, his tone unrecognizable. Almost frustrating.

“Didn’t think you would remember that,” Dean says.

“I do,” Sam said. “I did kiss you and I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t my place to.”

“You were drunk,” Dean manages to say, though his heart breaking slightly. He still can’t see Sam because he’s not looking at him and it’s a good thing. “And I’m sure you’ve kissed loads of people when you were drunk at school. Don’t go getting all apologetic on me. What is this, another chick flick moment? Come on.”

“But, I meant it, Dean.”

“What?” Dean says, turning around. He knows he can’t avoid not looking at him much longer. And the sight. The sight of his little brother sitting on a chair, the most painful expression on his face complete with the puppy dog eyes, fingers clenched in his lap, it makes Dean’s heart grow bigger and ache with pain.

“I meant it when I said I’ve wanted to kiss you. For a-a long time.”

The words hang in the air in silence. But, surely it isn’t all silent. It’s a lot more than silent. It’s just that Dean can’t hear anything else in the almost eerie silence of the room. He can’t even hear his own heartbeat.

Or feel where his stomach is. Or his arms. Or even the ground beneath his feet.

“What?”

“I love you, Dean. But, like, more than a brother. And I know that it’s all kinds of fucked up, but I’ve hidden it enough and after last night, I just figured you needed to know,” Sam says, his fingers laced through his hair, a nervous gesture that Dean’s really familiar with. “And if you want me out of here, I can go. I can leave because you don’t need that sort of distraction in your life and I’m sorry.”

There it was again, that stupid word. _Sorry_. But, Dean’s too occupied with the other words that have just left Sam’s mouth to feel himself flinch.

Sam loves him. _Loves._ He’s admitted it, his heart open and Dean can’t think of a single thing to say except “What?”

Sam scoffs, chuckles really. “That’s what I thought you were going to say. That’s why I’m packed and uh, I’ll be out of your way. Don’t worry.”

“No, no, wait, what?”

“Dean, you’re still trying to grasp the situation. I’ll just get out of your hair and maybe you’ll understand it. Just uh, don’t ask me to say it again, alright? It was hard to say it the first time. And it’s so fucked up, I can’t say it again.”

“I heard you, Sam.”

“If you did, you’d be freaking out.”

“I am freaking out,” Dean says and as soon as he says it, the panic sets in. “I am freaking out, alright? I-I-I don’t know what to do an-and it’s hard because I feel the same way about you and I don’t know how to uh, tell you that, except I just did and so--”

“What?” Sam says, his voice the perfect mix of gentle and surprised. “You feel th-the same way?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, heart thudding so hard, he’s sure Sam could hear it.

“Okay,” Sam says, nodding, and suddenly he stands up. “So, uh, what do we do now?”

Hell if Dean knows, he never once, not even in his dreams, thought that Sam would be in love with him. Or even like him for that matter.

He wants Sam to hug him so he can hug him back, wrap his arms around Sam and just feel the love, but neither of them move.

But, thankfully Sam rushes to the rescue first. “We’ll figure it out, right?” he asks. He’s close enough to touch now and Dean desperately wants to.

Sam reaches for his hand and the touch is even worse than the kiss. Dean doesn’t think he can keep standing, but he does and just stares into Sam’s brown, hazel, green, fucking even blue sometimes, eyes. He can’t decide what he’s doing, so he nods and just stands there, until Sam leans forwards, pink lips soft against his.

And his world is exploding into a firework of colors. And Dean feels like drowning, but it’s good. It’s what he’s always wanted. He runs his fingers through Sam’s hair, which is softer, a lot more different than he remembers, but it’s all he cares about. He _loves_ Sam and he Sam loves him back.

Dean can’t stop thinking about his little brother. Which was the whole problem, the whole solution and a whole bundle of emotions all wrapped in one. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Like I said it was my first Wincest fic, I'd love it if y'all let me know how I did! Thanks! <3


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